


my purpose.

by caticoo



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 100+ subscription special !, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Everybody Lives, M/M, One Shot, Prequel, again since its a prequel, gives some insight about ouma and stuff, ive never written from an ouma sorta pov so i hope this is okay..., prequel to my prince!, this is..... kinda bad.... its not rlly saiouma but it is?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 03:58:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caticoo/pseuds/caticoo
Summary: prequel to "my prince."royal au.





	my purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> hi. my name is cati! i'm sure most are familiar with me already.  
> thank you guys so much for 100+ subscriptions! it puts a smile on my face. the poll i put in on "my prince" for a masquerade ball au won, but i honestly had no direction with this ... so instead you get a little insight of the past from ouma's pov ! special special.
> 
> NOTE: this is directly related to my other fic, "my prince." ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376632/chapters/28153938 ), so a lot of this won't make much sense if you don't read through it! you can still enjoy it, however, if you're fine with not knowing a thing or two about the fic. whether this can be "canon" to that fic is up to your interpretation.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading! kudos, comments, reads, bookmarks and everything else is dearly appreciated. thank you guys once again!

The prince’s mysteriousness was overwhelming. His beauty, even moreso. 

He, the person behind the mask, was a liar through and through, but the truth could always find its ways past his lies -- he would always be defeated in the end, no matter how much he paid no attention to forces that would tell me what he felt was real. The cold, hardened truth -- a game he would inevitably lose to  _ every  _ single time.

Ouma expected nothing when his father had told him it was time for a father-son bonding trip. These words were simply a way, he was sure, for him and his mother to be separated. The two had a brawl, one could dub it, and there was messiness in their fight -- the tension in the air during dinner the evening of the battle was undoubtedly noticed by Ouma’s father. Ouma refused to open the door to his room when his father knocked on it several some minutes after Ouma was excused to his own private affairs -- he knew his mother had talked about him. There was no doubt behind that.

Having been so wrapped up in wrath, Ouma had forgotten completely why they were fighting. All he could remember was himself, throwing any item he could wrap his placid digits around at the woman who had raised him to become the young man he was -- there was no thought. There was only rage. This was what made Ouma tear up as his father kept urging at the door, knocking persistently to wait a few seconds for a response. Ouma gave in to his father’s pleas after he promised he had something that would boost his son’s mood.

So this,  _ this  _ was his promise. A trip to the finest kingdom in the area -- Primefield.

The desire to visit other kingdoms was strong with Ouma. After all, even he, a  _ native  _ to Riverdem, knew that his own country was the worst in many, many aspects -- he was ashamed and had asked his parents to move from time to time to Primefield. He knew well that Acer was simply on their knees to the superior Primefield, and Riverdem was far too vulgar to even  _ dream  _ about making alliances with Primefield. According to other people, Primefield was ideal in every single facet -- the complete opposite of what Riverdem was. The oddest reason for his restricted traveling was due to his parents’ own words -- that the world outside was dangerous for him, and it would be difficult to escort him out of the kingdom with easiness.

Entering and exiting the country was not very simple. You had to have a reason for doing it -- even Riverdem cared a slightest for crime, and since the rate of it was off the charts, every person that wished to gain entry or exit had to be traced down to their very bone in case they harbored any bad news. Thankfully Ouma’s parents were knowledgeable people (much more knowledgeable than the  _ dumb  _ children and  _ their  _ dumb parents at his school,) and knew a way out without getting handled to the bone.

Through some turns around an underground passage and a suitcase in each of their hands, Ouma and his father escaped to their vacation the morning after.

Ouma’s father explained thoroughly that the invitation they received was for a “refined, amazing banquet” that he had gotten hand of through a mutual at work. This news was what burdened Ouma the most -- a banquet had to mean getting dressed, looking nice, acting proper. There were people of importance at a banquet and if he and his father were to get caught, well… something would happen. Ouma did not know why concealing himself was so important back then -- it seemed strange to always be hiding in the shadows, making as little attention drawn to him as physically possible. But this is the number one rule his parents enforced upon him: never draw yourself attention.

He hated this rule with all of his being, but there was no room in his heart to tell his parents he would disobey this -- until yesterday.

Ouma had recollected his thoughts and had now clearly remembered what the fight was about. It was about him always being in the shadows -- always hiding his face with a hood, always keeping on the low. He was never forced, but rather, quietly persuaded to always stay in the house save during the nights when he and his father would go out to see the stars -- and once his youthful mind realized the considerable imprisonment, the lash-out between him and his mother commenced.

He couldn’t deny he still felt bad for what he had done -- he was sure there was some ulterior motive for his parents’ skepticism with letting him reveal himself in public. Perhaps it was due to his mother’s assassination work, but in the end, it felt so… terrible, to be kept in and wishing to explore the world -- maybe his parents were planning this all along, but he debunked this with the fact that  _ he  _ was the one that picked the fight with his mother. The fact he had argued with her was more terrible than the restrictions of visiting the outside world.

It was a masquerade banquet too -- a grand ball hosted by the Primefield king himself. Even his son, who was engaged to the princess of Acer, would be in attendance -- something that his father warned him about. Meeting a royal was something he shouldn’t bother himself with; he would be bombarded by young ladies his age (even for a fourteen-year-old he seemed like a playboy…) from all over the country anyways. Ouma made a mental note of this.

There was bustle when they arrived to Primefield. It was quite literally the opposite of Riverdem -- whilst only drunkards and dealers peopled the streets, and old maidens who wished to work a quick buck over stands, the atmosphere of Primefield was homely and welcoming. There was no in-depth check to enter the kingdom -- the border patrol simply asked for their reason, checked for any firearms, and allowed them into the busy town.

Children played, bards sang, and there was even festive dancing -- something that Ouma had only read in newspapers or heard from his parents. It was a foreign sight, a new smell to his nose and new sounds to his ears. Almost immediately he didn’t wish to leave -- everything already seemed so much better than Riverdem that it was no wonder Primefield was doing so economically and socially well.

Things were settled, bills were paid, and soon enough Ouma was fitted into a wonderfully white suit and mask to conceal the area around his eyes. He had asked for a cape with no luck; it was good to at least try.

You could imagine how excited Ouma was to arrive at the banquet the next day’s evening. It would be his first time, in what he considered to be a while, attending a grand, public event -- a perfect scene for someone that was hiding his identity from the general masses. His father would be in attendance too and Ouma was told to stay near him -- he had a feeling his father knew he would disobey this rule from the moment he was told.

There was just enough space in the ballroom to traverse freely -- Ouma knew if it was possible, everyone in Primefield and around would attend the event. Ladies dressed in delicate lace, men fitted to silk suits like his own -- most male members wore colors of darker shades, but some shared Ouma’s taste a lighter shade. His father patted his head, “Alright, Kokichi… remember what I said, yeah? Don’t grab attention, okay? Promise?”

“Promiiise,” Ouma drew out, crossed fingers behind his back. His father gave a kind smile as he hitched his thumb over to the food table, dressed in all sorts of delicacies new to the young boy.

“Alright! Your old man’s gonna be there all night. When you’re done having fun, go ahead and come on back… just don’t run away. I think I’d have a heart attack, and your mother would attack me  _ while  _ I was having that heart attack,” Ouma’s father joked, which genuinely caused Ouma to laugh. His father was always the easier one to get along with, but he couldn’t quite imagine being raised without his mother’s presence. “Now go on and have fun. I bet a lot of the younger ladies are from Primefield, so let your man side go all out!” Ouma only grunted as a response, as the two parted ways.

Primefield’s palace was wonderfully decorated with the softest colors imaginable, a palette of shades that only painted an equally cushiony and warm feeling inside the young boy’s chest. There was a sense of home, even though everything around him was so unfamiliar -- like he had some place here. It was beyond him what it was, why he felt a nagging feeling of being familiar with a place where he had not visited before, but it felt nostalgic, like a welcoming embrace.

There were others his age, ranging from what he assumed to be twelve to eighteen -- plus adults, who came just for the sake of it being a banquet and for bragging rights. Most were refined in tight-fitted wear and hold that shone on the littlest parts of themselves -- the gaudiness of it all nearly made Ouma sick. The feeling of being around these people didn’t make him feel at home -- it was the castle itself. The decoration that littered the ceiling, the paintings the were displayed on the walls, and the grand piano and orchestra pushed off to the side, dazzling the crowd with high-quality music.

Ouma wanted to stay forever.

Even though his father had suggested in, Ouma felt nothing but disinterest in socializing with the girls that looked to be his age. He had been described to by his father was attraction was, and what it was like to be a “man” -- to gaze upon girls and make them swoon at your dashing handsomeness. There was this burden attached to it, locked in via handcuffs, that weighed Ouma down -- for some reason, he couldn’t bother to look a girl and indulge herself in her beauty. That was simply a feeling lost to him.

Perhaps it was because he hadn’t met the correct woman. After all, there were many in the world, and he had only be exposed to a small fraction of it  -- he believed his words that he simply had not laid eyes on the person his father dubbed “the one for him.” The girls at his school were uninteresting -- they acted just the same, like some carbon copier, and perhaps it would be different in Primefield.

He took upon this suggestion of himself and approached perhaps two or three different girls, acting just as usual (he had no reason to not act like himself, so long as he didn’t touch them -- that way he couldn’t be accused of rape), and all three acted like he had expected: either disgusted/angry with his antics or interested until they found out he was just some lowlife who lived in Riverdem, and not some royal or noble they could feast money off of.

“Even girls my age are consumed in money,” Ouma cursed, shaking everything off, and as he did, a noticeable door in the ballroom opened and closed -- a butler with light green hair stepped out to join the crowd. Ouma saw his chance to have some fun.

With all his experience in stealth it was a little too easy to slip into the door and into the hallway that the butler had come from -- compared to the ballroom, lit up and joyous, the hallway of the castle was much more turned down in light, colors saturated from the darkness outside but lightened by the dim, smaller chandeliers placed on the ceiling. Ouma traversed quietly -- peeking through unopened doors and being greeted with simple bedrooms that didn’t capture his attention too much.

He came upon a large looking opening in the castle some hallways down -- a garden was delicately placed under a canopy of glass, meant for sunlight to shine through the day. The moon, instead, was shedding her beauty throughout the flora, and Ouma couldn’t help but be drawn in -- after all, he had never experienced such a nice looking garden in Riverdem due to various reasons.

Ouma’s fingers ghosted past different flowers, knowing that if a worker were to pass by he would most definitely get caught -- but it was enchanting, to be there, to be alone, in a wonderfully homely place in which he had never been to before. Like he was  _ meant  _ to be there and root himself into the grounds with no other purpose.

“Um… what are you doing here?”

The voice nearly made him scream, but he just barely managed to keep it in as he whisked his whole body to turn a different direction. A boy stepped out of the darkness, dressed in a royally dark suit and various places of gold and silver to reflect upon an important social status. What gave it all off was the crown, placed around a strand of hair that poked stubbornly out of the other boy’s head.

Ouma found his heart rate pumping for another reason now, but there was no time to think about that -- he had asked him a question. He had to have an excuse.

“Don’t you know me? I’m the gardener’s son! Just asked me to check up on the flowers here before I could be excused to the banquet,” Ouma lied through his teeth. It seemed to work, as the other wore an understanding expression.

“Ah, I see…,” He murmured, then thought for a moment. “I didn’t know Shikiba had children…”

“Well, looks like you’ll just have to research a little more, mister!” Ouma snickered. Gosh… this guy was… something. What was the word he was looking for?

“I guess I do, aha…,” The… interesting? boy chuckled with a hint of nervousness in his tone. That was… what was it? It filled Ouma with a sense of… amusement? Happiness? Giddiness? Something like… like he wanted him to do it again. Like it warmed his heart.

“...What’s your name?” Ouma said bluntly, wanting to know. The other boy looked at him strangely, a perk in his eyebrow -- he was obviously a prince, but Ouma hadn’t remembered his name. Something… Shujiki? Sainhura? Santa?

“My… uh… Shuuichi Saihara?” The prince responded warily, as if he was afraid of the outcome when telling Ouma this. Saihara… Ouma would remember that. He made sure of it.

“Saihara… Saihara-chan. Ah, there, that sounds better!” Ouma chimed, a happy smile on his face. “I’ll remember you, Saihara-chan.” Ouma made his great escape then, in which he would hold dear to him forever -- the regret that he had not stayed for a little while longer piled onto him, and for a couple of hours Ouma could only stare at the big-hearted moon as a party he had been looking forward to for the past couple days was raging in the palace.

It was fine, though. He already had a lot to think about -- the fact that there was a spark, a feeling, a sense of something he had felt when he talked to that prince. It wouldn’t become clear until he confessed his confusion out to his father, who, in his sudden realization, calmly explained to him what he was.

He was a homosexual, and he had fallen for one of the most impossible men to ever romance in the entire area. This would plague him until he decided he would do something about it; he would make himself known.

He would steal Saihara’s heart, if it was the last thing he would do.


End file.
